Beast-Whisperer
by Fangirl-Skyflight
Summary: Jennifer Bloom is an ordinary 11 year old witch, ready to go to Hogwarts. Well, that's what she thought. [Unfinished]


"Jennifer!"

The call was echoing throughout the building. Young Jennifer Bloom was currently hanging upside down from the rafters in the stables, admiring the small, sleeping baby Porlock in one of the stalls. Its mother had chosen to live on their ranch and Jennifer's parents had given it a stall accordingly. Her father had made her promise to leave it alone because it guarded the horses from harm.

Her parents were breeders of all varieties of horses – three varieties of winged horses and many conventional species. They were trying to get a line of unicorns, but all traders in unicorns seemed to be exceptionally shady. Jennifer loved their ranch, and often spent time looking after them, or watching the Porlocks in fascination.

When she heard her father's footfalls she cursed under her breath. Agilely looping and swooping her way across the rafters, she slipped into her horse's stall. Moonbeam snuffled her chest gently, looking for treats. She took out a brush and started to groom him. He whickered in appreciation.

She was just in time. Her father arrived at the stables, steering well clear of the Porlock's den. He called her name again, and she poked her head out innocently. "Oh hey, Dad." She put the brush down and left Moonbeam with a carrot and a pat on his dappled grey nose. "What's up?"

"You're going to Hogwarts this year. We got your letter. Sam was practically flying around the room in excitement." Sam was her younger brother. He was eight, but still loved playing ground Quidditch on child broomsticks with his older sister. He was very mischievous, and would often be found trying to get to the display case of wands in the house.

Jennifer smiled wryly. "He may well have been doing just that. I saw him eating a Bouncing Bourbon this morning."

Her father laughed. "Well, perhaps it will teach him a lesson. Nonetheless, we need to get you fitted for some robes, don't we? And a wand, too."

"Diagon Alley?"

"Diagon Alley."

* * *

Jennifer was sure her head was about to explode. She'd never been further than Dorset in her entire life, and here she was, standing in the middle of a part of London a fair amount of the locals would never see. Her father took her to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, asked Mr Fortescue to keep an eye on her whilst he did some business, and bought her a double scoop, chocolate crème with strawberries and chopped nuts.

He didn't seem to be gone long, and with Mr Fortescue chattering away to her, she was absorbed into a world of medieval duels by magic, witch hunts and the famous Golden Snidget. This story always sat a little badly onto Jennifer, so she asked him not to tell it to her again.

"Whyever not? It's the rise of the most important aspect of the humble game of Quidditch!"

"I know, it just… I don't like it." Jennifer shrugged. At this time, her father returned, holding two large boxes under his arms. "Hello, Jen," he said, ruffling her hair. Then, to Mr Fortescue, "Can you look after these for me? Won't be long…"

He took his daughter's hand and pulled her into the midst of the crowds. They arrived at Madam Malkins, where she was fitted for her robes. She was told to stand on a stool, and a very long robe was thrown over her head, where it was pinned up to the right length. As they did, they gossiped a lot. It was all she could do to not laugh at some of the outrageously unlikely circumstances the ladies were debating.

Finally they had finished pinning, and let her down from the stool. A witch pulled some scissors and thread out from her pocket and waved her wand. Soon, the length was trimmed and sewn, packed in a box and handed to her father.

They eventually winded their way to Ollivanders, where, after some consideration and over two dozen boxes of wands, they found her wand. Rosewood, eight-and-a-half inches with a unicorn tail hair in the core. She had blanched at the prospect of a dragon heartstring core, knowing full well that every time she did something with it, a powerful and majestic creature had been slain for her usage. A phoenix tail hadn't exactly appealed to her either – she'd read somewhere that a phoenix could only give ten feathers before it died, and that didn't sit too well with her either.

The final place on their list was the place that excited Jennifer the most. It was Magical Menagerie. Her father needed to come here for some medication for their youngest Granian winged horse. He'd fallen over a log trying to fly too early and had torn a hole in his wing. He had expertly patched it, but it had become infected, so he was going to Magical Menagerie to get something to clear the infection.

Her father pushed his way into the cramped shop, setting a bell ringing and several animals squawking and screeching irritably. Jennifer wished she had about eight more eyes to see everything.

Her father walked purposefully into the shop and greeted the shopkeeper like an old friend. "Bertha! Marvellous to see you!" She replied equally as affectionately. "Good to see you, Ben. What's for it today?"

"I've got a winged horse that's tore its wing jumping over a log. I've tried my best, but it's gotten infected again and I need some of your wonderful remedy." At this time, Jennifer appeared behind a tottering stack of empty cages.

Eyes wide in wonder, she pressed her hand up close to an elegant Kneazle sleeping in its cage, who began to purr loudly. Ben laughed. "And that's my daughter, Jennifer. Jen's going to Hogwarts next year, so I brought her here to get her pet."

The shopkeeper smiled, walking out from behind the counter to steer Jen towards the usual cast and crew bought by Hogwarts students. Lines of cages of noisy, croaking frogs attracted her attention first, but she cast it aside, knowing full well that she'd be the laughing stock of the year group if she brought _that_.

Her eyes next wandered to the lines of cats, cat-Kneazel hybrids and pure Kneazels of various shapes and sizes, all sleeping comfortably in their dens. She put her hand into one of the cages to stroke a massive black beast, which stretched and allowed her to rub his stomach. "He's our friendliest," commented the saleswoman. "Had many people who've had to make decisions against him. Maybe he's for you? Anyhow, let me fetch you your medicine, Ben."

She shook her head and glanced over the owls. All of them, bar a few, were sleeping, head under wing, peacefully. She didn't really feel interested in them so when she turned and spotted a black, wrought-iron cage with a sleeping bird in it, she instinctively drew closer. Ben had gone with the saleswoman to find the medication the winged horse needed, so it was just her and the bird.

She opened the cage door and put her hand inside… just as the saleswoman returned. "Don't touch that one!" she screeched, rushing over and pulling Jen's hand from the cage, closing and locking it once more. She quickly scanned Jen's skin, fretfully muttering, "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Bewildered, Jen replied, "I'm fine. He's a good bird. What species is he?"

The saleswoman looked curiously from her to the bird and back. "Ben," she called, without looking away. "Your daughter's something special, y'know."

Her father appeared behind a tall, wobbling stack of live boxed lizards. His curious expression changed to one of wonder. "My God, Bertha, is that real? A genuine Spectacled Owl… It's beautiful!"

"May I… May I try and say hello?" Jen asked quietly. Without waiting for an answer, she stepped forward. At the same time, Bertha stepped back as she reached for the latch again. She opened it, and gently stroked the bird's stomach. It closed its eyes and clicked its beak. She put out her arm, and with a few powerful wingbeats it was resting on her sleeve. She looked at her father hopefully. "Please, Dad?"

He shook his head, exhaling loudly. "I don't know, Jen. He's expensive." Bertha looked from the bird to Jen and then to Jen's father. Thoughtfully, she murmured, "I'll knock off forty percent. That takes it down to just forty-three Galleons and ten Sickles, give or take a Knut."

Louder, she added, "If you get the bird, I'll throw in the medicine for free. I've had this poor miserable fellow here for almost six months. He's too vicious to most people, but your daughter… He really seems to like her. Whaddya say? Forty-three Galleons and ten Sickles for the bird, plus the medicine – usually worth ten Galleons alone. Come on – that's a very good deal if I do say so myself."

Her father shook his head. "We just can't afford it. Look, Jen dear, get one of those nice Kneazels, they're only eight Galleons."

Bertha quickly lowered her price to twenty Galleons. A strict period of haggling ensued, with the cost eventually narrowing down to eighteen Galleons and seventeen Sickles, throwing in a starter kit for the bird as well as the medicine. "That's my lowest offer – and it's a steal."

He considered it for a long time, before giving in. "Fine." Then, as a side thought, "Bertha, you drive one helluva hard bargain."

She roared with laughter, ringing the cost up on her till. He handed the money over to the saleswoman. She looked exceptionally pleased to be rid of the bird. Before she knew it, they were in front of the fire in the Leaky Cauldron. A pinch of Floo powder took them back to their ranch.

* * *

They returned to a small shack some way from the house. The reason for this, according to her father, was to reduce the likelihood of Ashwinder eggs burning the house down if the magical fire was not extinguished. The building was a small brick room inside of which an open fire could burn.

Stepping into the sunlight, her wand in one hand, owl in the other, robes tucked under her arms, she walked towards her home. Her father nudged her gently on the shoulder. "That owl will be a talking point for you, even amongst much richer witches and wizards. You should be proud."

Jennifer stood up straighter, smiling. "I'm very proud. And very grateful." They had arrived at the farmhouse and had begun wrestling with the door whilst also trying not to drop anything.

Eventually, Jennifer's mother opened the door for them. She held a Niffler in her hands. Jen recognised it as Coalscuttle, the jet-black Niffler that the family had rescued from a flood. Squealing, she flipped the leather blindfold over the Niffler's eyes, rendering it tame as anything. They had learned to control it in a similar way that a falconer would control his hawk.

Scuttling inside, she dumped most of her items onto their kitchen table; a very old and solid wooden construction made from a single petrified tree. She turned to face her parents, who were examining the bottle of medicine and the two mysterious packages that they had bought.

"What's cooking?" Jen asked, smelling the air.

Her mother laughed. "Doesn't take you very long, does it? A little treat for you both. Guess?"

Father and daughter exchanged glances, before looking at the grinning woman. "Mum's special home-baked Cauldron Cakes!" they chanted. As they did, Sam raced in, jumping up into his sister's unsuspecting arms.

"Whoa!" Jen exclaimed, almost falling over. "Hey!" Her annoyance didn't last long. How could it? "Do you want to play Ground Quidditch?" he asked excitedly, bouncing in her hands.

She pretended to think. "Hmmm…" Looking down at him, she shook her head.

"_Pleeeeeease?_" Sam cried.

"Go on then. But if I miss dinner, I'm eating yours as well."

"You'd have to catch me!" Sam raced off outside. "Get mine for me, will you?" Jen exclaimed. She sighed. "No peace for the wicked," she muttered, before stomping outside to play Quidditch. As usual, she let him win, but only narrowly this time.

By the time they got in, night had fallen. Their dinner was a casual affair, with the family owl hooting from his corner, wanting to be let out to fly. It was all Jen could do to not fall asleep into her macaroni and cheese. When she finally arrived in her bedroom, she flopped onto her bed and fell asleep, without even changing out of her day clothes.


End file.
